A Penny from My Father

My dad loved me. And I loved him. He knew it, and I knew it. It wasn’t a secret. In all honesty, I was a real daddy’s girl from the day I was born. Still am. At least I would be, if I could be. Dad’s gone now. And when he went, a light went out in one corner of my heart. I miss him a lot.

Daddy was always an energetic and active man. We loved to play tennis together. And he played very well even into his seventies—long past the time when most people give up such a physically demanding sport. Not Dad. He never gave up... but he did finally have to quit playing.

Another way Dad stayed active was to take long walks around our small town. When I was home, we walked together for miles. Sometimes we walked four or five miles around the neighborhoods that were so familiar to us.

New sights and sounds were a rarity in our little town. Day to day, week to week, month to month, and even year to year things stayed about the same. George mowed his lawn every Tuesday. A group of businessmen drank coffee every afternoon at the drugstore. And the mailman delivered the mail every day at two o’clock, regardless of the weather. Routines were practical and predictable.

In some ways, the consistency was very comforting to me. I live in the city, and I loved coming home to find that things had not changed much. To Dad, though, it had become a little boring. So, to entertain himself as he walked his standard route around town, he looked for coins on the sidewalk and streets. It was a game he played, and when I was home we played it together. One day my eagle-eyed dad found a really nice necklace on the ground. Another time, he struck it rich by finding a ten-dollar bill. He really whooped it up over that one! It was the topic of discussion for several days. And the experience renewed his enthusiasm for keeping watch as he walked.

Occasionally, Dad found quarters or dimes or nickels. But most of the time, he found a penny or two that folks around town had accidentally dropped. It was like an Easter egg hunt to him. If you didn’t find any, it wasn’t as much fun.

The day of my father’s funeral, when the service was over, I was walking around outside. My thoughts were confused: What do I do now, Daddy? Who will watch out for me?

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